


Understanding Eyes

by PrimarchOmegon



Series: Commissions [1]
Category: Bloodborne (Video Game), Darkest Dungeon (Video Game)
Genre: Eldritch, Gen, Grant us eyes, Heart of darkness gets roasted, Micolash is a cutie, You know how Bloodborne lore is, and is angery, commission, incoherent rambling, mind-break
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-17
Updated: 2019-11-17
Packaged: 2021-02-07 21:50:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21465106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrimarchOmegon/pseuds/PrimarchOmegon
Summary: **CONTAINS SPOILERS TO DARKEST DUNGEON'S ENDING AND MAIN BOSS**This was a 2000 word commission for a friend!The most ambitious crossover in all of history, maybe ever, where Micolash wakes up in a new nightmare to wander and encounters some of its inhabitants. There are quite some similarities between them and he has all the time in the world to gather more eyes.I put as many of the original voice lines in it as humanly possible, I wonder if they are easily discernable...
Series: Commissions [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1547284
Comments: 3
Kudos: 14





	Understanding Eyes

_Now I’m waking up, I’ll forget everything…_

And yet, the nightmare hadn’t abandoned him. The eyes in his brain still lingered, still pushed him to carry on, to dig himself out of the mind-numbing, black sludge of oblivion. He was the bond between these worlds, the catalyst that had created it all. Despite his decaying body deep inside that hideout, despite fact that his brain had long since rotted inside his skull, he was and would always be the bridge that connected dream and mind.  
_The dream…_

  
It still existed, still coursed inside his veins, his blood, his cells. It coiled and winced, ached and groaned behind his eyes, behind all the eyes that lined the fibers of his being and his soul.  
Micolash, Host and Scholar of the Nightmare, was welcomed by cold, dark stone meeting his palms upon finally opening his eyes and forcing his body to stand up. This way of building was much younger than the handiwork of Byrgenwerth or the School of Mensis, however, the things these ruined corridors whispered to him were almost familiar. He stood where many had come before him, where many had fallen before he had even set foot into this aspect of the dream. What else could it be, what else could have been the birthplace of such dread but gnawing uncertainty, the prospect of being thrown into such an environment without knowing what to expect? This estate, if it could be categorized as such, seemed deserted, although he was able to make out a noise just at the edge of his hearing. The eyes rolled in its direction, yet there wasn’t anything to be seen, even with his insight provided by the Mensis Cage that still sat firmly on his shoulders.

  
All there was were physical objects, ragged carpets and destroyed chairs, boxes and windows that presented him with an eternal darkness outside these walls. No sunlight would ever grace these forsaken ruins, these corrupted lands. And like many others, Micolash felt like he was now bound to them, despite their inherent intention to mock him. It knew he didn’t belong, yet it also sensed that he was not whole. This was a part of the dream he had never been to, it felt alien and pressing on his being, even though he was unsure of the state he was truly in. Foreign impressions and tunes tried to crawl into his brain, though they protested upon being forced out after deeming them as trivial. There was something else, something that grew quietly inside the soiled earth and deep beneath the manor, however, even the Mensis Cage was not able to fully pick it up to establish contact. An Old One, too caged to move, stationary and confined within the cursed earth’s mighty embrace, only briefly rearing its head. Yet, even such an occurrence had resulted in a widespread panic, a cataclysmic event of impactful proportions. He had felt it first when touching the chipped stone underneath his feet. It had been drinking its fill of blood and despair, serving as one of many veins that merged with the source of this corruption.

  
“Malnourished. ”, Micolash mumbled, finally deciding to leave the room he had woken up in.  
“Malnourished child of Kos, do you want to taste my prayers…?” This one was careless and brash compared to the gentle embrace of the Daughter of the Cosmos, but his head did not care. The rhythmic thumping forced itself in and made it a home, establishing itself to be the creator of this world. However, it recoiled lightly upon meeting the gaze of all-seeing eyes protruded from his mind. It was not used to competition, nor was it accustomed to a being that understood what it was and actively sought communion. Micolash audibly sighed to himself upon realizing that this one would not be able to grant him more eyes. No matter what horrid truths it threw at him, he was already past that point. Not to mention that there was no need for him to care about the origins of this place, nor its people. He was not one of them and therefore found himself on the observing side, much like a scientist observing bacteria.  
“This is as big as you’ll ever be, little one. Confined to a planet, imprisoned by what you created. Discovered by what you created. Hunted by what you created. Apt, apt, apt…” No doubt it was angry at that, yet this child was simply one of many, encased in its own cosmos and trying to convince him how all-encompassing it was.

  
“Alas, even you yourself are mistakenly considering yourself not a part of the whole. Ah, but weep not, little orphan of Kos, do not be afraid, for the dream is endless.” The cracking of bones drew his attention away from the struggle inside his head and to one of the rooms on his journey through the moonlit hallways. There were audible voices as well, citing foreign incantations and chants that were meant for unseen ears. Blackened eyes behind a gilded mask stared at him upon entering, multiple voices breaking off abruptly and thus once more resting the unearthed bones they had previously tried to revive. It was but a single woman, clad in nothing more but the remnants of a former robe; however, she seemed rather surprised to see him. As if she had expected someone, no, something else.

  
“Your mind is like the canvas of an apprentice.”, he merely stated, tilting his head lightly and thus rattling the cage.  
“Do you wish to bear witness to the truth? Would you look into my eyes?” Before she could even do so much as reach for the dagger at her hip, he had grabbed her, firmly pressing her arms against her sides.  
“Oh, you kindred spirit, look into my eyes. No, no, look harder. Paint that barely touched canvas of yours.” Sadly, even though he held her during her convulsions, the eyes of her mind blossomed and opened at such a rapid rate that he already knew there was no saving this one. Her mind had not been equipped to handle this amount of insight and Micolash partially attributed this failure to the Old One’s selfishness. If it had shared more with its followers, they would be able to pierce the fog that clouded their existence, to see the fishbowl they had trapped themselves in for so long.

  
“Do you not wish to eat their prayers, little one? You do not wish to embrace them, yet they wish to embrace you. That is-” This time, it was not the cracking and chattering of bones that caught his attention, rather than the opening door. It moved aside so effortless, as if he was invited back outside, which he graciously accepted. Despite everything that had happened, Micolash did remember how to be polite.  
“My, oh my…” And despite his previous preaching, he couldn’t help but stare at what confronted him inside the faded decadence of the narrow hallway. The moonlight showed it all too clearly, hovering above the floor without making a single sound, though its ragged, sickeningly yellow robe should have at least rustled in the gentle breeze flowing in from some of the broken windows. It bore traces and similarities to his own scholarly garments, although in a very simplistic way.  
They were both staring now, one with obvious amazement, the other with empty eye sockets from a flayed skull. And yet, both continued staring from the warm embrace of the Mensis Cage. For a split second, familiarity flared up between them and he allowed himself to come a few steps closer.

  
“Hey, how do you do? My name's Micolash.”, he started out, refraining from hasty movements or even going as far as to walk too briskly while crossing the distance between him and this… being. There was no indication it recognized his behavior as friendly, however, it also did not make any attempts to stop him in his approach.  
Being face to face was a rather difficult endeavor, given that the cages separated them and the fact that the other was hovering, however, he felt it looking at him more clearly now. It did not have eyes, yet it did, deep inside its still intact mind. It had never been broken to begin with, this being had come into existence from something so far away that he had trouble picturing it.  
“You are…” His sentence faded away into merciful oblivion when the other finally raised a skeletal hand to grab onto his cage, lightly tugging at it. His was still taller, however, the empty eye sockets seemed to wander from the fleshless hand to the cage and finally his face.

  
“Not one and the same, but similar, are we? I understand, even without you saying it.” What beautiful eyes. Did it see his too, never blinking and trying to connect with what they flooded his mind with?  
“A grand lake of mud...”, he mumbled, unconsciously reaching out to grab the other’s cage as well, feeling the urge to mimic the gesture while those bone sockets seemed to draw him in.  
“ Hidden now from sight…” The skeletal frame in front of him showed no sign of reaction to his ramblings, yet, Micolash felt understood. As if it knew what he thought, as if it had the much-needed competences to make sense of what it saw inside his head. As if it agreed with him.

  
“Do you feel the emptiness, friend? The blinking of a thousand stars, a beacon in the darkness of space? Alas, we are too far away to be spared by their cold, mocking light, damned to search for guidance where we cannot see past our limitations. Grant us eyes, grant us eyes…!” The being nodded lightly, still not emitting a single sound. It was a magical moment, the sensation of a connection so otherworldly that he felt like he was steadily lowering a bridge for an Old One to enter his mind.  
“You felt it. You know it. You have seen the stars for what they actually are, from a place where they are no longer mere dots. It’s not a mask, there is no mask, it’s not a mask...!” The impressions, sensations, and pictures that burned themselves into his head were almost too much to bear when its bony fingers finally connected with the skin of his face, however, it did not let go of him.

  
It was the most beautiful dream he had ever seen, placed the most generous of spaces. Vast, endless, free from the clutches of the beastly idiocy he had tried to leave behind for so long. And at the same time, he shared his dream with this being, his knowledge and beliefs, the answers that the cosmos has provided him with. Eyes lazily sprouted where new information and ideas touched an expert mind and they blinked for a few moments before they resumed their eternal gaze through the fog of reality.  
“You have so many…” There was jealousy in his voice when the other withdrew its hand, however, Micolash knew better than to act upon it. Kos had planted so many extraordinary things into this creature, it had filled it to the brim with the most exquisite riddles and answers.

  
“We were friends, how could you?”, he teased, though the skull kept looking at him and even turning lightly, rattling the cage on its shoulders.  
“Grant me eyes, I beg of you, _let me see all of you!_” For a moment, it seemed to hesitate, only to withdraw completely and slipping its finger bones under its cloak. It was all too apparent that it did not want him to accidentally catch a glimpse of what was under it, yet, he did take note of a glance from the necrotic-blue shimmers inside rotten eye sockets.  
Once more, it tilted its head lightly to signify a nod and extended its hand, presenting him with a palm-full of carefully sorted eyeballs. Huh. At least it had meant well.


End file.
